


Bedtime Stories

by johnwatso, Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon verse, Cooking, Cuddles, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Ficlets, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Never-ending Love Stories to Keep You Warm, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Texting, explicit content, multiple stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatso/pseuds/johnwatso, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: A collection of bedtime stories about John and Sherlock being in love.





	1. Evenings

**Author's Note:**

> This collection is based on ficlets written over the years, but also bedtime stories written for each other.  
> Each chapter will have its own summary, author and tags!
> 
> We hope you'll enjoy them all :)

John pushes the door of the flat open, letting out a deep sigh and dropping his bag in the floor. Had he known today was going to be so busy, he would have gone to bed much earlier yesterday. Not sure Sherlock would have let him, but still, they could have snuggled together under the cover and let sleep take over them slowly.

“Sherlock?” He calls, already craving lips and hands. “I’m home!”  
  
He only has to wait a second before Sherlock appears from the kitchen, a concerned look on his face and something close to worry dancing in his eyes. John smiles, walking toward him and sliding both arm around his waist, “Sorry it’s late, we had several emergencies today and I couldn’t even find the time to send a single text.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes roam all over his face, one hand coming up to stroke his cheek slowly, “We could watch a movie,” he says, not at all what John had expected.  
  
“It actually sounds like a good idea, yes,“ he smiles, leaning up to brush their lips together. “I’m exhausted.”  
  
Sherlock kisses him some more, his hand now pressed to John’s nape, “I can order some take away.”  
  
John nods, “Even better. I let you chose the movie while I go shower quickly?”  
  
Sherlock remains silent, not letting go of him just yet, and John seals back their lips together for another kiss. God, he has missed this. An entire day without Sherlock’s mouth against his own and he’s already desperate for more.  
  
“I’ll get everything ready,” Sherlock breathes against his lips, and John holds him tighter.  
  
“Thank you, love,” he whispers and with one last kiss, Sherlock lets him go.  
  
John doesn’t linger in the shower, already looking forward to some snuggling on the sofa all evening, and by the time he’s changed into his pajamas pants and a t-shirt, Sherlock has already placed their takeaway on the table.  
  
“That was fast,” John comments, sitting down next to him.  
  
“You should know by now,” Sherlock replies. “Angelo always makes special deliveries for us.”  
  
John laughs, pressing his side against Sherlock’s before reaching for his box of food, “God, I’m hungry!”  
  
Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile, watching him as John takes the first bite of his pasta, “Good?”  
  
John looks up at him, “Perfect.” He settles against the sofa as Sherlock starts the movie. “Oh, I love this one.”  
  
Sherlock kisses his temple softly, “I know.”  
  
John takes his hand, squeezing softly, “I love you, you know that?”  
  
Sherlock rolls his eyes, “You did tell me this morning.”  
  
John chuckles softly, “I can stop if you want.”  
  
Sherlock looks at him, as if to challenge him to do so before saying, “Don’t you dare.”  
  
John laughs this time, pulling Sherlock’s face down to kiss him, “Not sure I could even if I tried,” he says.  
  
Sherlock brushes their lips together, “Good.”  
  
They settle back to watch the movie, John finishing his meal quickly and Sherlock barely touching his. He puts back his box on the table and opens both arms as soon as he sits back, welcoming Sherlock against him. They usually end up in the same position every time they watch telly. Sherlock’s head finds its place on his shoulder, both arms snuggled around John’s body and his lips leaving small kisses against his neck now and then.  
  
John lets the exhaustion of the day fade away with each minute that ticks by. He can’t remember the first time he had dreamed about sharing a moment like this one with Sherlock, but it feels like a lifetime ago now. Back when he had been too afraid, too much of a coward to at least try to tell this brilliant man just how in love with him he was. Back when he had let the world bring them apart piece by piece.  
  
“John,” Sherlock whispers, silent questions in his eyes.  
  
“I’m alright,” John hurried to reply. “It’s just… I should have chosen you, all these years ago.”  
  
Sherlock shakes his head, “We agreed that was then. We need to focus on now.”  
  
“Yes,” John smiles. “But you have to know, it's been you since that very first night.”  
  
Sherlock stares at him for long seconds, something so very soft in his eyes and John leans for another kiss.  
  
“I know,” Sherlock whispers when they part.

 


	2. Bath

John is in the bath, lying back and letting the steam soothe his overworked muscles while Sherlock sits on the edge. They’re drinking wine and winding down for the evening, talking about what they’ve done during the day and giggling at inappropriate moments, as usual. John looks so soft, so vulnerable and open; Sherlock can barely catch his breath. 

“What?” John asks with a tinge of concern. 

“Nothing. Just looking.”

“Oh? Do you like what you see?” he winks. 

“You know I do,” Sherlock teases back, but something is caught in his throat; a wave of emotion that threatens to spill over at any moment. 

“Oh. Are you okay, love?” John asks, beginning to lift himself out of the tub. 

“Fine, I just. Sometimes I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he chokes out on a whisper.

John smiles, fond, loving, lovable. He sits up and tilts Sherlock’s chin down to plant a kiss on his lips. 

“I’m the lucky one,” he whispers on Sherlock’s lips when they part. 

“Hmm. Might be true,” Sherlock teases, sniffing and staring down at his nails.

“Cheeky!” John laughs, splashing a bit of the bath water onto Sherlock’s suit. 

The look on Sherlock’s face made it worthwhile. He looks as shocked as a scandalised maiden. John can’t help but laugh even more. He can see the moment Sherlock switches over, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursing to hide a smile. 

“I’ll get you for that!” he warns, scooping up a big handful of water and throwing it right onto John’s face. 

Once John is done sputtering, he doesn’t know whether to retaliate or kiss the giggles right off of Sherlock’s mouth, so he does both. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabs Sherlock by the waist and hoists him into the bath with him, still fully clothed, and kisses the surprise away. 

They spend the rest of the evening laughing and splashing and kissing - a lot of kissing. 

When it’s time to get out, Sherlock says, “I hope you’re buying me a new suit,” but there’s no heat to it. He leans down for one more kiss, slow and suggestive of the more to come.


	3. January 29th

“It’s January 29,” Sherlock declares, and John rolls under the cover so he can snuggle closer to him.

“Hmm,” he sighs happily, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock’s neck and breathing him in.

“It isn’t just any other day, John,” Sherlock continues, one hand starting to stroke his back slowly.

John, his mind still fuzzy with sleep, tries to focus on what Sherlock is saying, and he replies softly, “Is it?”

He feels more than he hears Sherlock exhales loudly before he pulling away, “Wha-” John starts to protest but Sherlock’s finger are brushing his lower lips, forcing John to open his eyes and looks at him.

“It’s January 29,” Sherlock says again, and the wonder and happiness in his eyes make John’s stomach flutter. 

It takes another second for him to understand, “Oh. January 29.”

Sherlock smiles, one of those smiles that stretches to his eyes, and John leans in for a kiss. Sherlock moans quietly into the touch, pressing their bodies closer again and sliding both hand up his back and neck. John grins into the kiss, tongue tracing Sherlock’s lips slowly before parting them. Sherlock’s mouth is warm and welcoming, and John kisses him for long (long) minutes.

“I love you,” he whispers when then part, and Sherlock remains close, sharing every breath.

Sherlock brushes their nose together, “You’re marrying me today.”

John can’t resist another kiss, “Yes, I am.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, “You’ve met me all those years ago, today.”

John holds him tighter, loves him harder, “Don’t tell me you don’t know the exact number of days, minutes, seconds since I’ve pushed that lab door open.”

Sherlock laughs, the sound getting lost inside John’s mouth, before whispering the exact number of days, minutes, seconds since he’s fallen in love with John Watson.


	4. Movie Night

It’s movie night. John chose the film this time because, let’s face it, he’s the only one who cares about what film they watch. Sherlock is on the couch with his feet curled up next to him and his head on John’s shoulder, while John plays with his hair. They’re watching a movie about a group of women who catch ghosts, of all things. When it’s over, John turns to Sherlock and asks, “So, what did you think?”   
  
“I liked that clever scientist at the end.”   
  
“Sigourney Weaver?”   
  
“If you say so.”   
  
“So you enjoyed it?”   
  
“It wasn’t terrible, as far as films go,” Sherlock huffs out.   
  
“A glowing review!” John smiles, and it’s true - it’s probably the most positive thing Sherlock has ever said about one of the movies he has been subjected to (James Bond included).   
  
“What’s the rating for it on Rotten Potatoes?”   
  
“It’s Rotten Tomatoes, love,” John answers fondly as he pulls up the website on his mobile. “Seventy four percent, with a rotten fifty two percent audience score.”   
  
“Why so low?”   
  
“It’s not that low.”   
  
“Yes, it is. That ridiculous cartoon with the house that floats to South America on balloons had a ninety eight percent rating.”   
  
“Because that movie is delightful; it’s Pixar.”   
  
“I don’t know what that is.”   
  
“Of course you don’t. Anyway, _Ghostbusters_ has a relatively low rating because people didn’t like that it was an all-female remake of the original, which was well-loved. It actually didn’t do that well at the box office, either.”   
  
“So, let me get this straight: people were upset that a movie about ley lines and ghost portals had a female cast? _That_ was their problem with it?” Sherlock asks, incredulous.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“What do you mean, ‘why’?”   
  
“I mean _why_?”   
  
“Sherlock, you do know about sexism, don’t you?”   
  
“I’m not an idiot, John. I just didn’t realise people were that stupid,” Sherlock says with a horrified expression.   
  
John can’t help but kiss it off his face.   
  
When he’s done being thoroughly snogged, he asks, “Are there other films with all-female casts?”   
  
“Yes, a few. Why?”   
  
“Well, let’s watch them then,” Sherlock says indignantly, and John can’t help but snog him senseless all over again.


	5. Pride

Sherlock wakes up to find John staring outside the window in the sitting room, wearing only his pants and a mug of coffee in his right hand. He knows, just looking at him, that John is currently lost inside his own head, unaware of anything happening around. Sherlock likes to think it’s because of him that John is now capable of doing so, feeling absolutely safe in their home and with him. He counts down the steps he takes, getting closer and closer, until John’s head finally snaps back toward him, lips stretching into a soft smile.   
  
“Mornin’ love.”   
  
Sherlock doesn’t reply, choosing to wrap both arms around John’s waist instead and aiming for his lips. Still smiling into the kiss, John cups his face just as softly, thumbs stroking his cheeks. Sherlock sighs, feeling ridiculously happy.   
  
“What were you doing?” he asks when they part, remaining close.   
  
“They’re setting everything up for the Pride parade,” John explains, glancing back at the window. “I didn’t know they were going to walk down Baker Street.”   
  
“Mrs Hudson mentioned it,” Sherlock replies, stealing another quick kiss. “Boring.”   
  
John doesn’t reply, simply shrugging, eyes fixed outside again. With no control over it, Sherlock falls back into analysis mode, noticing the sudden stillness of John’s body but also the teeth digging into his lower lips, worrying. Something’s wrong, he can’t help but conclude, alarms ringing inside his Mind Palace.   
  
“Did you sleep much?” he asks tentatively.   
  
“Yeah,” John replies with no eye contact.   
  
“You didn’t get dressed,” Sherlock remarks next. “Not that I’m complaining.”   
  
“I got distracted.”   
  
Sherlock looks out down at the street, too. “By this?”   
  
John nods, eyes darting back to him for the briefest of seconds.   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“What?” John asks immediately.   
  
“You don’t find it boring,” Sherlock says. “Not at all.”   
  
“I just don’t mind, that’s all,” John replies, shrugging again.   
  
Sherlock raises one hand to John’s face, silently asking him to stop avoiding him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”   
  
John sighs, barriers falling down around them. “It’s just… I’ve never… Pride wasn’t really an option before.”   
  
“Before?”   
  
“Us,” John whispers. “You.”   
  
Sherlock lets his fingers play with the few hairs on John’s nape slowly. “You never went.”   
  
John shakes his head, eyes falling shut. Sherlock remains just as silent, pondering each thought crossing his mind, wondering what exactly John doesn’t seem to be able to ask yet. He knows about Pride, even went twice - once for a case, the other for his own amusement. It never seemed like much, with too many people around and some horrible music playing most of the time. But he understands the reasons behind it, the fights and struggles that led to such a demonstration.   
  
“Sherlock, can we-”   
  
John stops, sighing.   
  
“Nevermind.”   
  
Sherlock kisses his shut eyelid slowly. “Tell me.”   
  
“I love you. I love what we were and what we mean to each other. I love that I can hold your hand while walking back home and let the world see you’re mine just as I am yours.”   
  
“I love it just as much,” Sherlock replies, smiling into another kiss.   
  
John kisses him back, whispering shyly against his lips, “I never went to Pride because I couldn’t let people know, couldn’t let my secret out, but with you, I don’t have to hide anymore. So I’d like to go. With you.”   
  
“Yes,” Sherlock breathes, finding that there is nothing he would love more than to share John’s pride. “Yes.”   
  
“Yeah?” John asks, his face liting up.   
  
“Let’s get dressed now,” Sherlock offers, taking John’s free hand in his and slowly walking backward. “We could go have brunch somewhere, anywhere you want, and then we can find where Pride starts, and walk together.”   
  
John stops in the middle of the kitchen, wide eyes fixed on him.   
  
“Thank you for doing this.”   
  
Sherlock pulls on his hand, bringing their bodies back against one another and whispering into another kiss, “I love you.”

 


	6. Bake-Off

It starts off innocuously enough. They’re watching some ridiculous baking competition show on the telly when Sherlock insists he could bake much better than half these people, because how hard can it be?   
  
“I’m a scientist, remember, John?” he insists, rolling his eyes whenever John tries to argue that baking is more an art than a science.   
  
“Alright,” John says, folding his arms and grinning. “Let’s put it to the test. Bake me something.”   
  
“Now?”   
  
“I’m sorry, have you got anything better on?”   
  
Sherlock huffs, digging his toes deeper under John’s thighs.   
  
“How do vanilla cupcakes sound? Should be easy enough, given your experience in the sciences.”   
  
Sherlock agrees, finding a simple recipe online. With John’s help, he locates the majority of the ingredients that the recipe calls for (who knew that they owned vanilla essence?). He preheats the oven and lines the muffin pan (another thing he didn’t know they owned but wishes he did, especially given the perfect size for a couple of body parts) with little papers.    
  
John stands to one side of the kitchen smirking while he mixes all the ingredients together, dumping them all into a bowl at once.   
  
“It doesn’t make sense that I’d mix the wet ingredients separate from the dry ones only to then add them together. I’m saving time this way.”   
  
John continues to smirk.   
  
Sherlock decides to do something to wipe it off his face and, after he puts the cupcakes into the oven, he walks over and kisses it right off, startling John in the process.    
  
The kisses soon turn lazy and languid, and they take it to the couch, John sucking the batter off of Sherlock’s fingers while Sherlock writhes around under him, making obscene noises.   
  
It’s only when they surface for air that the smell of irreversibly burnt cake registers in his brain. Sherlock kisses the I told you so right off of John’s mouth, too.


	7. The case of the missing underwear

Sherlock arrives at the crime feeling bored already. He doesn’t need to look at the body, doesn’t need to even pretend to look interested. He’s done this type of cases before, thousand times. Lestrade is already sighing, Donovan shaking her head disapprovingly and John, as usual, is sociali- Oh.

Sherlock stops dead, all sounds and distractions shutting out around him. How is he only seeing it now? Barely twenty minutes ago they climbed down the stairs together, sat in a cab, walked all the way to the crime scene and only now does he really gets a good, real look at him.

There is no doubt. Sherlock has watched before, as closely as anyone in his situation can do so, and he knows. He even has a whole room in his Mind Palace dedicated only to observations made about John’s body and clothing. And yes, it involved stolen glances and secret investigation through John’s wardrobe. 

Sherlock is absolutely certain he knows all of John’s underwear. 

Which is why he also is absolutely certain that his flatmate is currently wearing none.

“Sherlock, are you alright mate?”

Lestrade is watching him worryingly, having walked closer. Sherlock takes a moment too long to reply, and to his horror, Lestrade is now looking at John too. He can’t notice. He’s not allowed to notice, Sherlock thinks, suddenly aware of the too many people that could arrive to the same conclusion as him and take a appreciative look. 

“Fine,” he finally replies, regaining some posture and walking toward John quickly.

He stops at a safe distance, too afraid of not being able not to look. John genuily seems to take interest in the robbery, asking question to the store manager and taking notes. 

While wearing no underwear.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he smiles, looking at him. “I’m sure you’ll crack this one quickly.”

Sherlock finds himself at lost for words and clears his throat. 

“Right, yes.” 

He can’t glance down, can’t look.  

“Are you ok?” John asks, frowning.

Sherlock nods, too fast. John doesn’t say anything, his silent clearly proving he’s believing none of it. Sherlock focuses on the woman in front of them, or at least try to.

“Greg,” John calls, turning around towards him. “Can you come?”

Sherlock can’t help it, can’t anything about it really. He’s looking. He’s closer now. John’s arse looks absolutely divine, so very tempting too. 

“I’m sure he’ll-“ John says, turning back around and catching him a second too early.

Sherlock looks away, feeling himself blush. Damage control, he panics.

“You used to leave a key to the housekeeper but he retired a few months ago. He had been working here for years and was friend with everyone employee, including you. No one noticed he never returned the key, none of you thought to ask. He didn’t come back to rob you, but his son did. I’m sure you’ll find the key in his room or house, he’s idiotic enough to believe he can’t get away with it and pull the same robbery in a few months.”

He inhales deeply, looking everywhere but John.

“Jason?” 

The manager.

“That was quick.” 

Lestrade.

“Brilliant.”

John.

Sherlock glances back at him, catching his broad smile and feeling his own lips stretch into a similar one.

“Do you guys want to come say Hi to this Jason with us?” Lestrade asks.

Sherlock doesn’t reply, looking at John. 

“I think we’ll head home,” John says, licking his lips slowly.

“Alright, I’ll let you know!”

Lestrade takes over with the manager, asking for the son’s addresses, but Sherlock couldn’t care less.

John is walking away. 

Slowly. 

In front of him. 

Sherlock finds himself both anxious and eager for what the rest of the day will bring them both.


End file.
